MOM BLAMES FOOTBALL

Yesterday I went over to Ct. to visit my moms. I know, you wouldn't think someone as ancient as I would have a mom still kicking....but I do. Hell, up until a few years back I had a grandma. She died , after out living her pacemaker, at 105. She'd lived in the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries. This was mom's mom, and aside from passing off that longevity gene, my maternal side is heavy on the wisdom. The Jennings girls are sharp.
   I don't get over there enough. When i do, i try to make a nice dinner and spend a relaxing Happy Hour catching up on the family and chatting about what ever suits our fancy. Mom has taken on Gram's aura of oneness with her surroundings to the degree that you feel good just being in her presence. That aside we always find something current to talk about. The evening's topic of interest was Occupy Wall Street. I brought it up. Since the old man was a broker and she had witnessed that world first hand, I was curious what her take was on the whole thing. "I blame football." she stated bluntly. "Football?" I responded, obviously taken aback by the curve ball. Ought-oh.
    Like I said, I don't get over here enough. Had I not picked up on something over the phone? Was this the onset of something? "You blame football?" I'd bite. "Why?" She took another sip of her wine and put it down on a coaster. "I blame football and baseball and basketball......." she paused and looked at the ceiling "....and even hockey." Then she straightened her crooked back and put her hands on her knees. "These athletes started demanding outrageous salaries. Ticket prices were raised. The front office started making larger and larger profits. Corporate greed set in. Everybody had to make more than these overpaid athletes and the system couldn't handle it. That's where Bernie Madoff, Goldman Sacs and the Bear Sterns mess came from. It's those athletes that got us in this mess." She picked up her wine, settled back on the couch and smiled.
   Phew! Was I relieved. Mom's theory may be a little out of the box, but in many ways she was right on. Forget the onset of anything. The old girl had all her marbles and then some. I made a nice veal with spinach and pasta and we both toasted and said "I love you." In the morning she gave me a chair, a quilt, a bunch of bad paintings I did over the years and a table where she found my pot in 1969. I thanked her and told her I'd keep my pot in the table. We both laughed, hugged and kissed goodbye and I drove home. Fucking football. I agree.